


When Words Act As Phantoms on Horseback

by Llama1412



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25365340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt used to the lack of silence. Without him, the silence creeps up on him and itches at his mind until he must break it.AKA how Netflix!Geralt slowly becomes more like Game!Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 213





	When Words Act As Phantoms on Horseback

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a play on the Equine Phantoms quest in Blood and Wine, which I _highly_ recommend checking out.   
> Thanks to [cinnamonsnaps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamonsnaps/pseuds/cinnamonsnaps) for the beta!

When Geralt had first started on the path, he enjoyed silence. Well, there was rarely true silence with enhanced hearing, but he preferred when the sounds were more distant, when he could avoid human civilizations and the only sounds were the birds and the animals and Roach’s snorting. 

Roach was his only companion on the Path for many, many years, and he’d picked up a habit of talking to her occasionally – the mutations hadn’t done away with the need for socialization, unfortunately, though they had made it much more difficult. The conversations usually burst from him and it wouldn’t be until after he was talked out and Roach was nosing at his side for a treat that Geralt would even realize that he’d needed to talk to somebody.

That all changed with Jaskier.

Jaskier, as it turned out, was not kidding when he’d said he didn’t go in for silence,  _ and _ he had no need for a 2nd party to carry on full conversations. He did appreciate when Geralt made some sort of noise in response, but he also didn’t seem to care when Geralt tuned him out so he could actually listen to his surroundings. 

The first time, Jaskier had only traveled with him for a week before the road had taken them different directions. And yet still, once Jaskier was gone, the world felt  _ too _ silent. The wind whispering through the trees, the lizards and rabbits rustling through the brush, the growls of wolves and wild dogs – it was no longer enough. The silence was instead making him anxious and on edge, and in sheer desperation, he’d started talking to Roach.

And it had worked. It wasn’t a lot of noise, but it was enough for when the silence crept up on him. He murmured praise and directions and thoughts for Roach’s ears and felt his shoulders relax.

Then he ran into Jaskier again. In all honesty, Geralt had assumed they would never meet again, but apparently the bard was determined to prove him wrong. Not only did he insist on traveling with Geralt again – “oh but think of the marvelous adventures we had!” – he truly had dedicated himself as Geralt’s barker. It was absurd.

It was also very noisy again, because even when he was asleep, Jaskier could not shut up. Part of Geralt wondered if that was a natural ability or if Jaskier had honed it just to make life difficult for other people. But the rest of Geralt was just glad there was something to fill the silence again. He still praised Roach, of course, but he was honestly relieved  _ not _ to have to talk. It was surprisingly difficult, to push words out of his mouth. Jaskier clearly did not have the same difficulty and Geralt’s lips twisted into a slight smile as he nudged Roach into motion and Jaskier immediately began a loud debate with himself about the merits of mustard-colored garments.

This time, Jaskier traveled beside him for a full season before their paths parted again. And as Geralt settled down to sleep that night, Roach already snoring softly, he was absolutely fine, he was.

Except for the way his skin was crawling and his mind was racing and he’d lit a fire just to hear the  _ crackle pop _ of the wood, and it still wasn’t enough. So he started humming. He wasn’t even sure what it was, some tune of Jaskier’s no doubt, but the sound and the vibration of it in his throat settled something in him. That was good. He could hum to himself as rode around on Roach, as he set up camp, as he skinned and roasted dinner, even as he bathed.

But on contracts, it was distracting. He needed to be able to focus on his work, but he also needed something to fill the yawning silence.

The first time he’d mumbled his deductions aloud, it had been unconscious. 

The second time had been on purpose.

By the seventh time, it was getting easier to let the words escape his throat, and he almost had enough information about the griffon that had attacked a convoy to hunt it.

The fourteenth time wasn’t really a deduction so much as a rant about the questionable parentage of the asshole who’d hired him and then fled without paying.

The nineteenth time, he spoke louder so that the herbalist’s apprentice, who was clearly more interested in monster hunting than herbs, could hear.

By the twenty-first time, it was nearly a habit and the words slipped out easier and easier each time.

By the fiftieth time, he stopped keeping track. It was still hard to talk to villagers and innkeeps, but talking to himself was getting easier and easier.

By the hundredth time, he no longer remembered why he’d started the habit, but it had nicely settled in now, and at this point, talking when it’s just him or just him and Roach takes almost no thought.

Then he ran into Jaskier again. Quite literally this time – Geralt was searching for a wyvern when he heard a very high pitched shriek and found Jaskier right in the middle of trouble again. How the fuck the bard had managed to wander into the wyvern’s nest without the draconid taking his head off Geralt couldn’t imagine. He raced into the fray, without even taking the time to oil his blade or take a potion.

He would regret that, as it turned out.

The fight was rough and exhausting and Jaskier didn’t seem to fully understand that he needed to stay  _ behind _ Geralt, and it only did so much good against a flying predator anyway. More than once, Geralt had been forced to take a blow intended for Jaskier, and by the time he finally cut the damn beast’s head off, he was swaying on his feet.

“Fuck, Geralt, where’re your potions, you need Swallow. Roach, come here, girl, let’s get our Witcher taken care of, hmm?” Jaskier fretted over him and as his voice washed over Geralt, he felt surprisingly calm, despite the blood loss and cuts and bruises. There was a particularly deep gash across his shoulder and Jaskier tore at Geralt’s armor to get to it. 

Geralt huffed and removed his armor properly, even though each movement sent sharp agony across his shoulder. The ache seemed to resonate up to his jaw, and Geralt slumped back heavily once his armor lay in a pile next to him.

Jaskier rushed in immediately, cleaning his wounds and applying fresh bandages. And the whole time, he spoke. He apologized for Geralt getting hurt rescuing him, praised Geralt’s alleged heroics, even started composing lyrics about the whole hunt on the spot.

And Geralt probably should have been annoyed, over the singing, the rescuing, the  _ not fucking listening,  _ but oddly, all he felt was content. When Jaskier finally paused, waiting for a response to some question Geralt hadn’t paid attention to, he found it surprisingly easy to ask, “sing for me?”

Jaskier inhaled sharply and pressed a hand to Geralt’s face as if checking for fever. Geralt rolled his eyes, but didn’t push Jaskier’s hand off. As Jaskier stared at him, the hand dragged down his cheek and made him shiver.

He had no idea why, but that seemed to convince Jaskier that Geralt wasn’t under some curse or illness or other such silly idea as to why he asked for Jaskier to do his damn job.

“Okay,” Jaskier said, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “What would you like me to sing?”

“Anything,” Geralt grunted, and he was amazed at how easy it was to form the word and give it voice. It was as simple as if he were just talking to himself or to Roach.

“Tell me if you’ve heard this one,” the bard grinned and launched into a slow, winding epic. His voice, surprisingly high pitched and yet, still able to sing such deep notes, coiled around Geralt and he let his eyes fall shut to fully appreciate it.

“So,” Jaskier began some time later, once Geralt was all patched up and he’d finished a few songs, “should I ask about your sudden – and much delayed – appreciation for my voice, or are we not talking about it?”

Geralt chuckled. “You got me used to – well, you. Silence feels weird now, without your chatter filling it.”

“My  _ chatter!?  _ That was some of the finest singing you’ve ever heard!” Jaskier swept his arms out, huffing in indignation. “My chatter. I will have you know, Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde, my  _ chatter  _ is the highest caliber chatter you could ask for!”

Geralt sighed, regretting telling Jaskier about the name Geralt had originally chosen. Vesemir had vetoed all but his first name, and Geralt was vaguely grateful for that. 

Especially because Jaskier insisted on butchering the pronunciation in the worst ways possible.


End file.
